


Black Swan

by the_glare_you_see



Series: yah yeet [3]
Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Angst and Feels, Gen, Songfic, burnouts, cathys struggling, i guess lmao, writing sucks sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25975873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_glare_you_see/pseuds/the_glare_you_see
Summary: There was a time when she enjoyed creating worlds, telling stories, weaving her words together into something magical.She had tried to find it again, tried to recapture that feeling but she couldn't.She didn't know why, she didn't know what changed, she didn't know if she would ever get that feeling back.And it scared her.
Series: yah yeet [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889413
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Black Swan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reign_of_Glory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reign_of_Glory/gifts).



> heyo 
> 
> so i used Cameron Philip's version of Black Swan for this (yes i listen to kpop don't judge) and the lyrics kinda hit me like, rlly hard, so this was born
> 
> enjoy?
> 
> pls feel free to leave comments and kudos bc they make my day!
> 
> stay safe yall
> 
> \- Zen

[ _ I don't wanna stop the thing I love so much but, I could be at the point where I've finally had enough. _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7ZjqnbqaGc)

Ink dropped down from her pen onto the paper, leaving a trail of messy blots marring the words she had messily scrawled onto the pages.

Words, phrases, smidges of ideas flew around her mind, clashing together and slowly forming into one messy, incoherent ball. 

She did nothing to stop it.

But it wasn't like she could stop it, even if she wanted to.

_ Even when I lay under the sun, my heart is raining. _

The others had noticed that something was wrong. She felt like she had been knocked off-kilter and had no clue how to get back on course.

She spent more and more time locked inside her room, staring at the same, ink-stained page until her eyes overflowed with tears, trying to get her brain to come up with  _ one good idea. _

Knocks to her door went unanswered, meals left outside were nibbled at, and requests to join any outings or activities that did not strictly involve the show were seldom agreed too.

“Cathy, dear? I was wondering if you were going to join us for dinner,” Jane called, voice barely wavering with worry. She sighed, tearing her eyes away from the ink-stained page that seemed to be mocking her whenever she looked at it.

“Not tonight," she replied, barely loud enough to be heard through the door, "I'm... busy.”

Jane was silent for a moment, and she felt a small seed of guilt swirl around in her stomach.

“Alright," Jane finally replied, "I'll just leave it out here then.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, shutting her eyes and fighting off the headache that was beginning to appear.

_ How come when you love something you always end up hating? _

There was a time when she enjoyed creating worlds, telling stories, weaving her words together into something magical.

The rush of giddiness that she would get when she figured out a character's motive or the sheer adrenaline when they were nearing the end of their journey was comparable to the feeling felt when the thunderous applause of the audience rang in her ears as she triumphantly held her fist in the air.

She had tried to find it again, tried to recapture that feeling but she couldn't.

She didn't know why, she didn't know what changed, she didn't know if she would ever get that feeling back.

And it scared her.

_ Why do I hate my whole life when I'm the one who made it? Killing me now, killing me now, do you hear me, yeah? _

It was a passing comment that Anne had made during one of the rare times she was outside her room.

“Do you think you've had a burnout?” The oldest cousin asked, one sharp brow raised over her phone. She hadn't replied and continued to the kitchen to refill her now empty mug of coffee. Her hand was shaking badly, but she paid it no mind. After all, she had work to do.

_ Burnout. _

Such a simple word, yet it rattled around in her head, careening into rejected ideas and the confused knot that was her feelings.

When did writing become work? When did it stop being a hobby and start becoming an expectation? 

When did it stop being  _ fun? _

_ Is this the person that I'm always gonna be? Trapped inside alone, but I'll be living dreams. _

Their worry was visible now, even Catalina's, who prided herself on being able to never let people see her emotions, even in the most stressful of situations.

_ “Chica,” _ her godmother whispered, rousing her from a fitful sleep,  _ “Por favor, _ get some sun. You've been locked inside for days. When was the last time you had a bath? Or a full meal?”

She blinked at her, trying to organize her messy thoughts into some semblance of order. The concern in Catalina's eyes was visible, and she let herself be tugged out of her chair and led to the bathroom.

_ “Que estas haciendo?” _ she asked, voice rough from disuse. Catalina didn't reply, only gently pushed her into the bathroom and crouched down near the tub.

“You need to relax,  _ mija,” _ her godmother whispered, watching as the tub slowly filled with water, "we're all worried, you know."

She scuffed the floor, looking down in shame.

_ “Lo siento,” _ she replied, not fighting the hug that Catalina pulled her into.

“I wish you'd talk to us about what's bothering you,” Catalina murmured, planting a kiss to the top of her head. She blinked back the sudden bout of tears and nodded.

“Don't worry about me,” she replied, “I'll be fine.”

Catalina pulled away with a soft smile and shut the water off.

“I'll be back with a change of clothes,” she said, before slipping through the door, leaving her alone with her messy thoughts once more.

_ Turned into a nightmare when that's all I'll ever be yeah. Feeling me now, feeling me now, do you hear me, yeah? _

She supposed it was her fault when she wrote that line into her song. She signed herself up for this.

“Remember that I was a writer” was a one-way ticket to being labeled as “the writer” and  _ only _ “the writer” of the group for the rest of her life.

“You know that's not all you are, right?” Kit asked, brushing away a stray hair and snapping her out of her trance. She didn't reply, couldn't actually, because she didn't know.

Wasn't that all she was? It was what everyone expected her to be-- even herself.

“Cathy?”

Suddenly Kit's smile was too soft, her eyes too understanding, her hands too gentle and the need to get away from her well-meaning questions and caring eyes filled her.

So she did.

She scrambled out of Kit’s hold and scurried out the door, rushing past Catalina who shouted a question she couldn't bring herself to listen to, past Jane who tried to catch her, and past Anna who was sent crashing into the doorframe. 

(She figured that she’d apologize later, once she figured out how to get herself under control.)

She didn't know how long she ran, only that when she stopped, she was somewhere far away, with no idea how to get back.

It was here that she finally allowed the tears that had been begging to be released, fall. She crumpled to the ground, ugly sobs being wrenched from her chest and echoing across the empty space.

_ Do your thing, do your thing with me now. What's my thing, what's my thing tell me now. _

_ Tell me now, please, tell me now. _

**Author's Note:**

> i feel bad that anna wasnt given a big role in this, but I like to think that shes the one who chased after cathy so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> scream at me on tumblr: @judging-seahorse
> 
> lmao ok baiii


End file.
